


the thrill of the rush

by saaarebas



Category: Baby Driver (2017)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Pre-Canon, Pre-Poly, deborah's not in this because i'm not feeling it, i didn't edit this because i have a lot of feelings, my favourite bonnie and clyde
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 19:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saaarebas/pseuds/saaarebas
Summary: Darling was never a stripper.A story about how they met, their relationship and hints of polyamory between Baby, Buddy and Darling. I'll make a better summary later.





	the thrill of the rush

**Author's Note:**

> Legit just saw this movie and immediately was like 'i need to write ot3 fanfic and also Buddy and Darling could get it' so yeah.

She was never a stripper.

It was at a bar in Vegas, a run-of-the-mill party joint for undiscerning locals and businessmen in town ready to get trashed. Buddy’s company sent a few of the high-earning executives down to Vegas for a bonding exercise. Mostly it was an excuse for them to get drunk, get high, and burnout on company money. He’d already scored a couple bumps off a guy in the bathroom, was already feeling the tingle in his face and the jump in his veins.

Buddy looks around, and like a movie, their eyes connect. Two strangers across the bar, or however the song goes. He’d been looking for a pretty girl to pull, but she’s different. It’s like she’s pulling him, her dark, Spanish eyes locked on his. Buddy was a sucker for her from the beginning. With one look, he’d fallen for love hook line and sinker.

She’d been sitting with a man, arguing with him by the looks of it. He’s a bruiser type, with tattoos and an air that says he thinks he’s tougher than he is. He looks at her wrong, his gaze possessive and cruel, like he doesn’t realize she’s the most perfect creature he’s ever laid eyes on. The woman throws Buddy a wink as she leaves, her boyfriend’s hand around her arm just a little too tight. 

 

He comes back the next night, and the next, and the next. That night is their last one in Vegas, so he’s alone. His friends have gone out to the strip clubs, ready to get a last lick of action in before they go home to their wives. Buddy’s about to give up hope when the door swings open and she walks in, looking like a queen in a white fur coat and a black silky gown. She sits down at the bar, and stares at him, her perfect lips curving into a sanguine smile. 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Buddy asks, sliding into the seat across from her. The bartender brings her a martini, and he orders a scotch. 

“Gone,” she says. Her voice is lilting, the hint of an accent that he can’t quite place. She’s enchanting. She picks up the olive from her drink and pops it in her mouth. Her sleeve falls down, and there’s the shadow of bruise-purple fingerprints on her wrist. 

“He left?” 

A pause. “You could say that.” She smiles at him, bewitching, daring him to ask. He doesn’t need to, understands exactly what she means by the glint in her eyes. 

  
They spend all night together, and the next day too. They order room service and eat lobster in bed. Buddy’s coworkers fly back without him, much to the chagrin of his boss. He couldn’t be assed to care. When he leaves a week later, she comes with him.    
  


The first time Darling sees Buddy’s penthouse apartment, she drops her bags and twirls. “I could get used to this,” she laughs.

He scoops her up in his arms and kisses her, long and hard and passionate, like they always do. “It’s all yours. God, I swear, it’s all yours.” 

They have sex on the balcony, so high above the people below that they look like ants. Later, with a cigarette in her hand, Darling looks out over the skyline and sighs. “That last man.”   
  
“What about him?” asks Buddy. He snags the cigarette from her lips, and puts it to his own. He thinks he’s imagining it, but the filter tastes like her perfume. 

“It’s funny,” she says. “He always thought he owned me. He’d get mad if I left, practically froth at the mouth if I talked to another man.” Darling turns her gaze on him, dark and calculating. “I had to put him down.”    
  
“I know. If you hadn’t, I would have.” As soon as he says it, Buddy realizes he means it. If she asked, he’d do anything for her. “No one owns you.” 

She touches his lips with a fingertip, as light and as gentle as a butterfly. “You do.” 

“No,” he says. Sharp. 

“Baby..” Darling says. “I  _ want _ to belong to you.” 

 

Sometimes he lies awake at night and thinks about murder. With her curled up next to him like a cat, steady breathing audible in the silence, it’s like a dream. No one would guess the mind that lies behind that pretty face. The heart that beats in her perfect chest. He imagines killing with her, the way her hands would wrap around the hand grip of a gun. Buddy pictures someone else’s blood dripping down her face, and feels his dick twitch in his cotton pyjama pants. 

The fourth time he has to sneak out of bed to jerk off in the bathroom, she follows him. After he’s come, Darling pushes open the door and pads in, her bare feet quiet on the cold marble tiles. She cups his face in her hands, kisses his nose. “What is it, baby?” She strokes his cheek, the side of his jaw. “Tell me. What do you need? Baby, you can tell me anything.” 

“What if-? Um.” For maybe the first time in his goddamn life, Jason Van Horn’s tongue-tied. “What if, you know. Would you want to do it again?” 

She laughs, bright and clear, and slides her hand down the front of his pants. “You really think you can go again this fast?”

“No.” How does he put this? How do you tell the love of your life you want to kill for her? Kill with her? “Not...that.”

Darling stops stroking his dick, and hooks her fingers through his belt loops. She searches his face, then her expression clears. She smiles, dark and pleased. “Yes,” she says. “God, yes.”    
  


The first time she kills a man, he looks at her, still holding the smoking gun, and the black thing inside him purrs ‘mine’. She’s his, self-professed, but most of the time it feels like he belongs to her. She’s never looked more beautiful than when she’s wiping the blood off her hands.    
  


Doc’s sent them on a job, a routine hold-up at a bank. It goes well. Better than well, actually, with the new driver Doc’s got on the payroll. He’s barely a man, fresh-faced and quiet, but he can drive like nobody’s business. Buddy, an ex-car man himself, recognizes genius when he sees it. He introduces Darling and himself later. Learns the kid’s name is Baby. 

Darling likes him immediately. She smiles at him and pats his face in a way that should make him jealous but doesn’t. “Aww, he’s cute.” She looks back at Buddy, voice teasing. “Can we keep him?”   
  


In a bar in Texas, Darling takes his hand across the table. “Buddy, baby.” She whispers. “Let’s go back to Vegas.”    
  
They fly there the next day. After an evening in their hotel, holed up with champagne and blow, they’re taking a walk when they pass by a registry office. Darling stops, pulls on his hand. “Honey?” she says. “Wanna do something crazy?”   
  
He grins at her. “What, like get married?” 

Instead of rings, they go to a tattoo shop and get one each done. Hers, written across Buddy’s collarbones. His, across the nape of Darling’s neck. Buddy pays in cash, extravagant and easy, and as they’re leaving the shop, Darling squeezes his hand. “Hmm?” he says, turning to face her. 

“That guy,” she says, nodding towards the beefy artist behind the counter. “He’s looking at me funny.”   
  
Afterwards, in their room, Darling kisses the blood off his knuckles. She undresses him piece by piece, tearing his soaked shirt into strips for easier disposal. They fuck on the bed, on piles of cash, and it’s a high that can’t compare to any earthly drug. When Buddy slides into her, the sound she makes is so pretty he could choke. She pulls his hand up to her mouth, and kisses it, tongue lapping at the blood still under his nails. He’s never felt more alive or more golden. 

 

It’s late, like it usually is after a job is done. They’re sitting in Doc’s ‘office’, counting piles of cash. Buddy’s sipping at his coffee, watching the bills slide through Doc’s capable hands. Darling’s sitting on his lap, stiletto nails scratching through the grain of his beard.

“What do you think of Baby?” she asks. Buddy follows her gaze to where the kid’s sitting, engaged in one-sided conversation with Griff. He still looks more like a college kid than a hardened criminal, but there’s a cut on his cheek from a bullet in the windshield that tells a different story. Buddy shrugs, takes a gulp of his coffee.

“I like him,” continues Darling. “Why do you think they call him Baby?”   
  
“I don’t know,” says Buddy. “Cause he’s so young?”   
  
“Could be,” she says, blowing a bubble of gum. “He could be such a good boy, don’t you think?”   


Buddy pauses, thinks. “Yeah,” he says. “He could.” He watches as the kid taps out a melody on the table. He’s got a rhythm to him, a grace in his movements that’s oddly captivating. “You want him?”

She shrugs, suddenly coy. “You and me and Baby makes three..” 

“Huh.” Buddy thinks about it. Darling’s dark hair, Baby’s all-American good looks…. It’s not….exactly a bad image. He kinda likes it, actually. He pictures Baby in their bed with Darling riding him, pictures him on his knees with those wide, guileless eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”


End file.
